Of Mothers and Sons
by GibbousLunation
Summary: Sometimes Hiccup wishes he remembered what his mother said before she left, other times he's glad he doesn't. [Now a series of short Hiccup thoughts]
1. Chapter 1

A/N: just a rambly drabble about Hiccup and what he remembers of his mother. As far as I'm aware from the small little glimpse given of the new movie, this does not follow canon. It does take place somewhere after the events of the first movie, but as I've never watched the tv show, probably deviates from that as well.

Disclaimer: All rights to Httyd belong with Dreamworks, I am but a simple drabble writer and have no hold over the characters in any legal way.

* * *

Hiccup didn't think about his mother often; he missed her, obviously, but thinking about her deep breathy laugh and the softness of her steel grey eyes left him feeling more hollow than anything. He couldn't remember much about her anymore, that thought alone was enough to leave him gasping awake in the middle of the night, an intangible weight pressing a hole somewhere deep in his chest.

His dad and him never talked in much detail about her either, well, they never used to talk at all about anything but even with their relationship on the mend, his mother was a sore spot for the both of them. Hiccup was never really sure what happened to her, as a result. It was like his memory repressed the incident and the days around it, all he could recall was confusion and vague impressions of feelings and sounds. He felt her hand ruffling his hair, a figure vanishing into a foggy bank, and the sound of wooden masts creaking in the breeze. He knew his father hadn't been able to look at him for weeks, locking himself away in the Great Hall and talking to no one but Gobber. He remembered the way everyone looked at him, with pity and pain, and how when he caught their eyes they'd look down and leave as fast as they could. He knew how it hurt, seeing all the other mothers, the other kids with their families; how breathing felt like fire for a long time after. Sometimes he wish he could remember what she'd said before she left, other times he was glad he didn't.

Astrid once told him that he was too shy around girls, that he held himself differently around her and everyone else. Obviously, he was more relaxed around her specifically, they'd been through enough it felt almost natural. Girls and women as a whole were strange and foreign, an uncharted location. He thought of them as exceedingly powerful, fantastically strong and wise, and he was sort of almost afraid of them. Or maybe a lot. He'd grown up with Gobber and Stoic, the two most gnarly and grizzled men in their village. Being the weak chicken legged screw up he'd always been, it was hard to feel confident and comfortable on a regular day.

Now, though, he had friends. And his father's respect. The whole village's respect even. He'd stopped the fight with the dragons, saved everyone from the Red Death, Odin- people actually liked him now. He'd never really been confident but he was happy; he believed him and Toothless could accomplish whatever they set their minds to, and that was better than anything he could ask for. Well, almost anything. There was a pressure on him, now. People looked to him when there were problems with dragons, or with livestock, or honestly when any sort of dilemma arose; they expected he'd have a scheme or a diagram to walk them through it. They expected him to be the brains that solved everything, and by Thor he was more terrified about letting them down than anything else.

There were some days where the stump of his leg would shoot small bursts of pain where it connected to the metal hunk of his foot, like reminders of the people he'd let down and the mistakes he'd made. He felt small. The skies and land he'd travelled were limitless and immense and he was just some boy with twig arms and a knack for saying the exact wrong thing. Days like these he'd take Toothless and fly as fast as he could push them, until the wind stole the breath from his lungs. They'd lie on a hilltop somewhere, and Hiccup would try to see the shape of a viking hat in the bright lights pinning up the sky.

He hoped his mother would be proud of him. That she would have hugged him and laughed with him and called him her "fire-eyed fishbone" with kisses and smiles.

He wondered, if she had seen what he could have been, all the triumphant victories, medals, and accomplishments, maybe she would have stayed.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: This was just a standalone fic, but I just saw Httyd2 and really felt like there was something missing from this particular scene and thus I wanted to elaborate a bit I suppose. Heads up though to any returning readers that this is very much a spoiler, so read with caution!

* * *

Hiccup's first thought was that it was incredible. His mother was alive, surrounded by multitudes of dragons, some of which he'd never even heard of before, some of which his careful archiving and historical studying had never covered. His mother was alive, and well, graceful in the sort of way that seemed as though her feet were lifted by air and stronger than hand crafted metal. His mother was alive. So very alive. It was breathtaking, awe inspiring, and he supposed he might have gone momentarily catatonic. There was an indefinite amount of information to process, and it was incredible in multiple different angles.

His second thought, however, was wrought with confusion and immense hurt. His mother, was alive. All this time hiding out in a cavern so close by it left a vague echoing pain in Hiccup's chest. Abruptly he felt a fury building in his bones between the echoes. Who was she to leave them all these years? To make them think she died? Over a misunderstanding and stubbornness of all things- which, as vikings, were traits one would often automatically associate with day to day conversations. He wasn't so much angry on his own behalf- he'd hardly known her, it was hard to miss something you'd never really had- as much as he was brimming with hurt on behalf of his father.

His poor love struck father, Stoic, who'd talked so gently and lovingly of a wife who had meant the stars and more to him. Hiccup recalled the distant, glazed over, achingly pained look in his fathers eyes when he'd think of her. How his voice would grow so soft, softer than anyone could have assumed from such a burly cheiftan. Hiccup thought of the stories he'd tell, of a woman so sharp tongued and quick witted she'd chased off half the village once to clear a patch for a dragon migration, a force of pure nature surely a daughter of Odin herself. He looked at the unsure figure in front of him, the one desperately pleading for a place in his new life, for a chance to start over. Part of him wanted to laugh. The majority of him felt like screaming.

She was incredible, that wasn't a question as much as a fact. Valka moved like a dragoness, tender-footed and silent; it was clear her grasp on dragons as a species was infinitely more developed than his. She saw them as her pack, this cave her treasure trove. Where Hiccup saw mysterious and friendly creatures, she saw kin. And yet, she was so very much like him it almost terrified him. He'd spent so long wondering if she was looking down on him from Valhalla and giving him her blessing, to see this woman staring at him so openly nervous felt so wrong, so immensely wrong. She wasn't a legend at all, she was just a woman with fears that had buried her for so long she'd decided running away from her problems was a better alternative than raising her own son. Some goddess. Some mother!

He wanted to demand answers. Surely Stoic's stubbornness and thick headed qualities weren't enough for her to just forget about them or else she wouldn't have married him in the first place. Why hadn't she tried to come back? Why hadn't she flown in with her pack and shown them a different side to dragons like Hiccup had tried? Why hadn't she missed them? Why hadn't she loved them enough to try?

And yet, he saw the way her hand shook as she reached towards him, the stutter in her steps when he moved too close. The panic that was building in the tightness of her eyes with every second he spent in quiet stillness. How could he stay angry at someone who clearly hadn't forgiven herself? He could practically feel her regret like a cloud of smog that was slowly suffocating her, how could he cause her more pain when she'd bared it all alone for twenty years?

She was here now, their family was whole now. His mother was alive, and she was proud of him. That was more than enough. It was more than Hiccup had ever had the courage to dream of.

So as she reached for him, cautiously, waiting for rejection with wide terrified eyes- he was reminded suddenly of a younger, shakier him holding a dagger above his prized Nightfury. He saw her loneliness, her guilt, her need for acceptance. She'd been the village joke, like him, shut out and made to feel broken and bent. He'd wanted to leave too, at one point... at many points. If Astrid hadn't found them, he probably would have, just taken off and gone where the wind took them. She'd taken her chance at freedom, she'd escaped and made her own destiny where she could be at peace. How could he blame her for that? He understood loneliness more than anyone. But he also understood family, and he supposed he'd have to teach her how to be a part of this one again.

Her hand met his cheek, and he found himself leaning into it, smiling. _I found you, Mom. We're going to be okay now, you're going to be okay. I found you and I'm not leaving you behind._


End file.
